


Old Time Rock 'n Roll

by Chaos_Squirrel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Agony Aunt Jasper Sitwell, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Phil Coulson loses a bet, Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:31:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaos_Squirrel/pseuds/Chaos_Squirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson loses a bet. The evidence was lost to the bowels of Sitwell's desk...until Clint Barton came along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Time Rock 'n Roll

**Author's Note:**

> I present, for your reading pleasure, a lighthearted Clint/Coulson (or as it shall forever be known in my heart: Bowtie) get-together fic. Here there be a slightly goofy narrative that does not feature any whumpage or true angst. This takes place several years before the events of the first Iron Man movie, with hints of an AU post-Avengers take. I reject current MCU canon and substitute my own. 
> 
> My writing is heavily influenced by the MCU as well as the Avengers Assemble and Ultimate Spiderman animated series. Various headcanons come from the plethora of fic I’ve read in the last two years. I write what I know. If that ain’t your shtick, that’s cool and I respect that. You don’t have to read this. 
> 
> The basis for this was inspired by a season 1 episode of Marvel’s Ultimate Spiderman. Acting Principal Coulson is a gem. 
> 
> Mad props to my beta/best friend Chiaroscuro for the read through and the constant encouragement to publish.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. These are Marvel’s toys. I merely promise to keep everyone consenting and happy. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Clint’s been at SHIELD for 2 years when he finds the tape. Looking back, he can’t remember why he’s going through Sitwell’s desk, but he’s sure his reasons are legitimate.

 

The tape is tucked away in a bottom drawer, wedged between a book of Marmaduke comics and a half-assembled Mr. Potato Head (senior SHIELD agents are weird). It’s fairly innocuous, just a standard VHS with “March 22, 1990” scrawled on it in Sitwell’s nearly indecipherable handwriting. He’s not sure what inspires him to take it, but he doesn’t figure it’ll be missed.

 

Two days later, he’s heading toward Coulson’s office to hand in the report from his last mission (a week late, but who’s counting?) when he hears a heated argument coming from an appropriately shadowed corner.

 

“What do you mean it’s gone?” Coulson is not happy, and Clint shouldn’t find it as arousing as he does. Granted, Clint finds just about everything his handler does to be arousing.

 

He’s got a thing for competence. So sue him.

 

“Look. It was in my desk and now it’s not there,” Sitwell says.

 

“You kept it in your desk? The only reason I let you keep it was because you swore it would be safe!” Coulson says in a harsh whisper.

 

“My desk is a black hole! Shit goes in and it doesn’t come back out! It couldn’t have been safer!” Sitwell replies.

 

“Well. Clearly it could have been,” Coulson counters. “Find it. Before someone else does.”

 

The agent walks out of the shadowy corner and freezes at the sight of Clint. “Agent Barton. How much of that did you hear?”

 

“Hear? I didn’t hear anything, sir,” Clint replies. “Just turning in my report from the Moldova op.”

 

“Ah. Only a week late this time. You’re improving,” Coulson’s face is as bland as ever, but there’s a hint of a smirk at the corners of his mouth that Clint really wants to kiss.

 

“I live to serve, sir,” Clint replies with a sloppy salute.

 

“Glad to hear it, agent. Now. Aren’t you due on the range?” Coulson asks.

 

“Yep. Headed that way now,” Clint said.

 

Coulson nods and heads in the direction of his office. Clint allows himself a few moments to admire the cut of his handler’s suit and the way it enhances his…assets, before heading in the direction of the range.

 

It’s not until later that night that he’s able to consider what he overheard. He battles long and hard with himself about watching the tape, especially since it seems to affect Coulson in some way. But in the end his curiosity wins out.

 

He’d found a VCR and 12-inch television at a thrift store for ten dollars when he first signed on with SHIELD. Now Clint sets the tape next to the machine and proceeds with the ritual of getting the TV to work: pushing the power button, tapping the top twice then smacking the side. The TV gives a hiss of static and shows snow for a few seconds before clearing.

 

Clint’s hesitates for a second before pushing the tape into the VCR.The screen is black for a few moments before it clears, revealing a shaky shot of an open door frame.

 

“All right, Phil, I’m pressing ‘play,’” Sitwell’s voice says.

 

“Why did I agree to this?” Coulson’s voice seems dangerously close to whining. Which is odd, because Agent Coulson doesn’t whine.

 

“Because it was either this or buying every junior agent dinner. Those were the terms. If it helps, you were drunk when you agreed to them.” Clint’s brow furrows as he listens. That’s Fury’s voice.

 

“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” Phil says.

 

Tinny music, vaguely familiar, fills the air and a figure slides into frame.

 

Clint’s jaw drops. The person is male, dressed in white knee socks, a white button down shirt and…The man’s bottom half is clad only in a pair of tight briefs, leaving very little to the imagination.

 

The opening lyrics start up, the figure turns and Clint’s brain shuts down. That’s Coulson. He looks younger, with fewer lines around his eyes and a bit more hair, but it’s definitely Coulson. Coulson, who is dancing and lip-syncing to “Old Time Rock ‘n Roll” in an approximation of the Tom Cruise scene from “Risky Business,” complete with the foot-tapping and the gyrating hips.

 

Clint is a combination of unsettled (he’s seen Coulson take out a terror cell with a 3-hole punch and a roll of masking tape, but nothing weird like this) and seriously turned on. The dancing may be a little awkward, but the view is nothing short of spectacular.

 

The video ends and Clint is torn between watching the tape until it breaks and hiding it away. The world can’t see this. The world doesn’t deserve to see this. This is a treasure.

 

He debates for a long time about what to do with the tape, running through every scenario from putting it in a box to launching it into space. He ends up sneaking back into Sitwell’s office at three in the morning to put it back. He picks up an operation in Chile two days later and the tape gets pushed to the back of his mind.

 

The next couple of years are a blur of operations, with varying levels of snark, explosives and what Clint hopes isn’t one-sided flirting. Though to be fair, he doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with flirting. There weren’t exactly a whole lot of people to practice on in the circus, unless you count the bearded lady’s apprentice. So he has a hard time determining whether Coulson is returning his flirtations (or what passes for flirtations) or if the handler is just humoring him.

 

“He likes you,” Sitwell says on a particularly boring op in Tasmania.

 

“How can you tell?” Clint asks. It’s just him and Sitwell on this one, with Clint lying prone on a rock cropping overlooking an isolated road and Sitwell acting as a spotter. In times like this, the senior agent has the dubious honor of becoming something of an agony aunt for the sniper.

 

“Because, he wouldn’t let you get away with half the shit he does if he didn’t like you. No other agent can turn in reports two weeks late,” Sitwell replies. “Or terrorize junior agents with suction cup arrows and superglue. Or lurk in the vents above his office like a damn creeper.”

 

“Okay. I’ll give you the last two, but I’ve gotten better with the reports thing!” Clint says.

 

“Whatever. He also pines like a motherfucking Christmas tree,” Sitwell says.

 

Clint will forever deny that he perks up at that “Really?”

 

“Seriously? How blind are you two?” Sitwell asks.

 

“Then why hasn’t he said anything?” Clint counters, ignoring Sitwell’s question.

 

Sitwell’s eyebrows rise to his non-existent hairline “Why haven’t you?”

 

Clint doesn’t have an answer for that.

 

Sitwell sighs “Look. Phil would kill me if he knew I was telling you this. But it’s my fucking sanity on the line, so I’m telling you anyway. Phil won’t say anything because he’s technically your superior.”

 

Clint’s brow furrows “SHIELD doesn’t have a fraternization policy, does it?”

 

“No. Most agents prefer boyfriends/girlfriends/spouses/fuck buddies who understand what they deal with on a daily basis. Also, Fury really doesn’t care,” Sitwell replies.

 

“So what does Coulson being my superior have to do with anything?” Clint asks.

 

“Bastard’s too damn noble for his own good. He doesn’t want to take advantage of you,” Sitwell explains.

 

“But I want him to take advantage of me! Preferably while naked!” Clint exclaims.

 

“Professionally,” Sitwell says slowly, staring at Clint like he’s been transformed into a particularly slow junior agent. “He doesn’t want to take advantage of you professionally.”

 

“Oh,” Clint says.

 

Sitwell rolls his eyes and focuses back on the road “Look alive, Hawkeye. Here comes the target.”

 

“Shit,” Clint mutters, looking into his scope. He hasn’t moved during the conversation, but getting back into the zone is going to take a couple of seconds. Time he really doesn’t have if the dust from the road is any indication.

 

The target is taken out with no complications, but the conversation with Sitwell sticks with Clint through the next couple of operations as Clint debates what to do.

 

Sitwell has no reason to lie to him about this, Clint thinks as he dives behind some crates to avoid AIM gunfire. But that doesn’t mean the senior agent hasn’t misread the situation.

 

“Barton! Focus!” Coulson barks through the comm.

 

“Focusing, sir,” Clint shoots back, shoving his mental debate aside.

 

After all, he can’t freak out about what to do next if he’s dead.

 

It takes some doing, but the AIM agents are eventually corralled, disarmed and sent to the local SHIELD base for questioning. Clint and Coulson give their preliminary reports and return to the hotel.

 

Agents don’t talk about it much, but the SHIELD accountants are a bunch of cheapskates. Hotels on ops are considered a necessary evil, and the financial department has a habit of approving the most minimal budgets possible for missions. This means that agents do a lot of room sharing. This particular operation is no different.

 

“Do you want first shower?” Clint asks as Phil fights briefly with the door over the hotel room key card.

 

“If it’s all right with you. I’ve got a video conference with Hill in forty-five minutes and I’d rather not do it covered in syrup,” Phil says. AIM gunfire in the warehouse had shattered several crates of the stuff, creating a sticky mess.

 

“Trying to figure out why AIM was in a warehouse full of syrup?” Clint asks.

 

“We’re still not sure why AIM is in Vermont at all,” Phil replies. “So you don’t mind?”

 

“Go for it,” Clint says, flopping down on his bed and reaching for the remote.

 

Phil nods and grabs a small bundle of clothes from his bag, before heading toward the bathroom.

 

Clint amuses himself by flipping channels and trying to ignore the fact that Coulson is currently one door away, naked and wet.

 

Eventually the water turns off and Clint focuses even harder on whatever images are passing on the screen. It goes about as well as can be expected.

 

The door to the bathroom opens and Phil walks out. Clint glances over and does a double take. His mouth goes dry.

 

Coulson is wearing a white dress shirt and dress socks, but he’s not wearing pants. Clint doesn’t know if the senior agent forgot to grab them or didn’t want to risk wrinkling them, but Coulson is wearing briefs that are reminiscent of the ones he was wearing in the tape. And as attractive as Coulson was in the video, the real thing is a million times better.

 

“Everything okay Barton?” Phil asks, meeting Clint’s gaze.

 

Clint doesn’t reply. He knows that now would be a great time to tell Coulson how he feels. To admit that he’s been harboring a massive crush on his handler. Now would be a good time to use his words like an adult.

 

But Clint is Clint. So his response is to get off the bed, stalk over to Coulson, and kiss his handler full on the mouth.

 

For several terrifying moments, Coulson doesn’t respond, and Clint is silently cursing Sitwell for ever planting the idea in his head. Then Coulson seems to get with the program and starts to kiss him back.

 

“Am I dreaming?” Coulson asks when the two break apart for air an indeterminate amount of time later.

 

“If you are, sir, so am I,” Clint replies, staring at his handler. Coulson’s face is inches from his own, pupils blown and lips slightly swollen. Clint is about to dive back in when Coulson speaks.

 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what brought this on?”

 

Clint opens his mouth and then closes it. He doesn’t want to explain about the tape at this point, so he goes with a variation of the truth.

 

“I’ve sort of had a massive crush on you for a long time and you were in the shower and then you walk out here looking like that and I just…” Clint shrugs. “Want to have dinner when we get back to New York?”

 

Coulson is staring at him, a soft smile on his face. “How long?” he asks.

 

“Since you bashed me over the head and dragged me into SHIELD,” Clint replies.

 

Coulson—no, he’s Phil at this point—responds by wrapping his arms around the sniper and kissing him again. This time there’s definitely tongue involved. Clint thinks he’s going to have to buy Sitwell a fruit basket.

 

“Don’t you have a meeting with Hill?” Clint asks as Coulson pushes his shirt up. Clint doesn’t bother to suppress the shiver that runs through him.

 

“You want to stop?” Phil asks, gray eyes serious.

 

“Hell, no,” Clint says.

 

Phil ends up missing the call. Agent Hill isn’t happy, but Fury congratulates Phil on “finally getting his damn fool head out of his ass,” and Phil is happy with everything but the paperwork. Sitwell gloats for a full week, but Clint is too ecstatic to care.

 

Clint does eventually tell Coulson about discovering the tape. Coulson is mortified at first, until Clint manages to convince him of how hot he found it. After that, it becomes something of a private joke between the two.

 

And if, several years and a move into Avengers Tower later, “Old Time Rock n Roll” is their first dance at their wedding reception, well…the reasons why are nobody’s business but their own.


End file.
